


The Chasm of Sleep

by httpqisandcry



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Angst, M/M, Memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:27:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25876666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/httpqisandcry/pseuds/httpqisandcry
Summary: not even achilles' dreams will let him be free
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 74





	The Chasm of Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> a/n: this is based off the scene in the iliad where the ghost of patroclus begs achilles to bury him. the first part is inspired by tsoa but everything after the bit in chiron's cave is from the actual iliad. and yes,achilles did call patroclus his prince.
> 
> car salesman: *slaps the roof of this one shot* this bad boy can fit so much angst.

Perhaps it was his grief. Or his inability to let go. Maybe even his misery. Whatever the cause, Achilles saw Patrolcus that night.

He lays beside his beloved in their tent, trembling fingers intertwined with Patroclus’ cold ones. But in the chasm of sleep, Patroclus timidly looks up at Achilles. The innocence of youth is still present in his glimmering eyes. His hair is shaggy; an overgrown mess but not as long as it is now. He’s clad in the clothes Peleus provided for all arrivals. The toga hangs off his lithe figure, the ends dangling beneath his knees. He has not yet had his growth spurt, nor has the callousness of life chiselled his body.

Achilles reaches out, desperate to embrace Patroclus, but an invisible barrier prevents any contact. He’s left to press himself against the unseen wall, helplessly sobbing, as Patroclus looks on. He throws himself at the blockade, hoping to shatter it and reclaim his love, but not even he, half divine, can overcome the separation between memories and reality.

“Can’t you just tell your father I was with you?”

It all fades away. Achilles falls to the floor, winded from his descent and his agony. He turns over to his left side and freezes. Beside him is Patrolcus. His breath slips through his smile in small huffs. Forehead pressed to Achilles’, he meets eyes as deep as the sea. But his umber orbs are veiled by emptiness. His fingers are intertwined with Achilles’ and, like the corpse in their bed, are ice cold. Achilles swallows a cry and tries to savour this fleeting moment.

But it’s snatched away.

Achilles is back in their tent. His head twists in all directions before he stops cold. With wide eyes he realises where he is. When he is. Curling into himself, he bawls like a lost child.

“Not this.” He howls. “I want to wake. I would rather die than relive this cursed sequence.” All his pleading is futile. No gods can hear him.

Just as he expected, the tent flaps fly open. Achilles is dragged to his feet despite his strenuous efforts to remain crumpled on the ground. Patroclus rushes in, kneeling at Achilles’ feet. Tears gush down his face like a spring down a rock. A surge of indignation rises in Achilles but is replaced with a heavy guilt when he remembers the cause.

“Why are you in tears Patroclus?” He wants to bite his tongue. “You look like a young girl crying after her mother. You are streaming with tears, but why? You must not harbour it inside. Tell me.”

Patroclus clasps Achilles’ hands, bringing them to his face.“The Greeks are being slaughtered outside. Only you Achilles, Aristos Achaean, can save them. Diomedes has been struck down. Odysseus is wounded, Agamemnon too.” His body convulses with helplessness and he clings to Achilles. “If your anger forbids you to fight, then dress me in your armour and send me.”

In that moment, Achilles is sure he will be sick. He wants to clamp a hand over his mouth and stuff the oncoming words down his throat. But even he, with all his strength, cannot overcome the course of history. He sobs as he watches his beloved beg for his own brutal doom.

“No, no, my prince, Patrolcus. This is madness.”

Patroclus shakes his head, face buried in Achilles’ robes. Achilles bites his lip.

“Fine.” Patroclus looks up, hope shining in his watery eyes.“But you will not go anywhere near Troy. Entering it is an honour we can claim together.”

Achilles wants to scream but he’s trapped in his mistakes. He watches it all play out. Strapping Patroclus into his armour. Giving Automedon his orders.

Watching Patroclus ride into the arms of death.

Once again his surroundings churn, morphing to the next inevitable misery. Nestor’s words ring in his ears. Collapsing to the ground, he digs his hands into the earth below and tries to bury his face in the filth. From the corner of his eye he catches the glint of an iron sword. He grabs it, hoping to end his suffering with one swift blow, but Nestor holds him down and rips the weapon from his grasp.

Thetis kneels beside him, undeniable concern written on her face. “My child, what is wrong? What sorrow has touched your heart?”

Achilles flings himself onto Patroclus’ body, hiding his face in the crook of his frigid neck, searching for the familiar feelings of comfort and safety. His words stumble from his mouth, barely intelligible. “Patroclus is dead. The man I loved more than all others, loved more than myself, I’ve lost him. Hector has taken him from me.” Patroclus’ body shudders as Achilles laments. “I wish Peleus had married a mortal bride. I wish I didn’t have the god’s foul blood coursing through my veins. My life will be worthless unless I kill Hector for what he has done to gallant Patroclus.”

“You are doomed to a short life Achilles.” Thetis warns through her tears. “If Hector dies, then your death will not be far off.”

Achilles snaps upright, fury contorting his face. “Then let me die, since it was not my fate to save him from death.” His voice softens and he tangles his fingers in Patroclus’ matted locks. “He died so far from his home, without me and my strength to defend him. I was not able to bring him one ray of hope, nor my other comrades. Hector shall pay for taking the dearest life I know.”

Again, his memory dwindles away, only this time there is none to replace it. Achilles scrambles in the dark, crawling on his knees, losing all his strength. A bright light bursts to life before him. Achilles looks up to see Patroclus, a smile of pity and longing plastered on his face. He looks as if he had not been touched by war. His tall build, his fine eyes; clothed in the same robes he used to wear. Achilles knows that this is not a memory.

“Sleeping, Achilles? You’ve forgotten me.” His voice is soft but his words sting. “You never neglected me in life but you’ve done so in death.”

“No.” Achilles moans. “I wouldn’t.”

Patroclus carries on as if Achilles had never spoken. “You must bury me, quickly. I am left to wander up and down, abandoned.” His smile trembles and, like Achilles, he begins to cry. “Give me your hand – I beg you with my tears. Never again shall I return from Hades once the rite of fire is complete. Never again shall we huddle side by side, apart from the others, conspiring with our plans. And your end, dear Achilles, is not too far off. You too are fated to die beneath the proud Trojan walls.” He kneels down, like he did when he begged to ride out to battle. He stares into Achilles eyes and, through the tears, Achilles can spot a spark of life. Achilles leans in, ready to listen to whatever Patrolcus asks. “But I have a last request. Never let my bones be apart from yours. Let them lie together as we once were in Phthia. Let the urn your mother gifted to you hold us together.”

Achilles nods, tears dripping onto his bare chest. “I’ll do it all. I’ll obey you, your commands.” The gaping loneliness in Achilles chest screams for him to get closer. Patroclus is so near. He can’t stop himself. “Come closer. Let us throw our arms around each other and, just for a moment, take joy in the numbness of our hearts.”

Achilles slants forwards, arms outstretched, ready to retrieve his love from the bitter grip of death. But his embrace cannot reach Patroclus. His beloved dissolves into a wisp of smoke and sinks beneath the ground.

He springs upright with a start, tears flooding his already soaked face. He pounds his fist together, crying out in desolation. “All night long, the ghost of Patroclus clung to me, grieving, sharing warm tears, instructing me what to do.” His voice softens.“Marvellous – like the man to the life.”

Achilles’ heart sinks as he realises what Patroclus’ visit means. He had been told to let go of the one he loved since childhood, by the man himself. Achilles doesn’t want to move on, doesn’t want to release the only human part of him, but Patroclus’ words echo in his mind. Is it really worth denying him Hades just for a few more days of mourning? The answer, sorrowful as it is, is clear.

Besides, he would not be too far.


End file.
